


Cognitive Dissonance

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-12
Updated: 2007-06-02
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12412170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Percy Weasley likes when things are neat and orderly, and when life makes sense. Unfortunately for him, his life stopped making sense a long time ago.





	1. Completely Above Reproach

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Chapter One -- Completely Above Reproach**

Remus Lupin looked down at the list he'd made up for himself. "For our next item of business," he began. "I had hoped this...situation would resolve itself in time, but I don't think that's very likely anymore." He swept his blue-eyed gaze over all the Order members, making sure he had everyone's attention. "Percy Weasley has become a liability to this organisation."

The reaction was immediate. Molly Weasley burst into noisy tears and needed to be consoled by Arthur, who looked a bit grim around the mouth. Charlie and Bill, the latter of whom had only recently been released from Madam Pomfrey's care, exchanged meaningful looks. When the other members of the Order shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do or say, Lupin went on. "You must understand, Molly, Arthur," he said gently. "Percy might not know what the Order is doing exactly, but he knows his own family and Scrimgeour knows that. You told me yourself that Scrimgeour used him as an excuse to visit the Burrow last Christmas. He could use Percy for even more, in order to extract the information he wants, and Percy wouldn't think to deny it to him."

"What should we do?" Bill asked hoarsely. "Perce's stubborn when he really wants to be." Charlie nodded in agreement.

"Exactly," Lupin said, "which is why I don't think there's any way we're just going to convince him of the errors in judgment he's made. I think someone should be assigned to watch him."

"That's it?" said Sturgis Podmore. "We just -- watch him?"

"To make sure that Scrimgeour doesn't learn anything we don't want him to," Lupin clarified. "He or she would be promoted to the Ministerial staff, just as Percy is, and simply keep a close eye on him."

"And we can do that?" Sturgis said.

"As it happens, one of Scrimgeour's staff members left his employ last week to go on extended maternity leave," Lupin said, looking down at a report, "so yes, we can. Whoever we elect to the position will simply monitor all of Percy's exchanges with Scrimgeour, and notify the Order at once if anything potentially threatening comes up."

"I'll second that," Molly said in a wavery voice. She wiped at her eyes with a frayed old handkerchief. "I worry about my Percy out there alone, without any protection."

"But you said yourself, Remus, he barely knows about the Order's existence," Elphias Doge wheezed. "Why bother? What's he got to pass on?"

"Not for much longer, he won't," Hestia Jones said grimly. "What with the attack at Hogwarts, and then last year's event at the Department of Mysteries, people are starting to notice that certain of us just happen to be present whenever the Death Eaters come calling."

"Jones is right," Moody barked. His magical eye swiveled madly to look at them. "It was all over the _Daily Prophet_ that I was at the Department of Mysteries."

"And you're ostensibly retired from the Auror force," Lupin finished. "Yes, I fear the Order's underground nature will not last for much longer. And Percy is an intelligent lad, I'm sure he'll be able to put two and two together."

"So if we're going to do this," Charlie said slowly, "it'll need to be someone whose name hasn't been in the papers connected with Order business."

"Which drastically reduces the number of people we can use," McGonagall said primly. "We also cannot use someone who is an Auror."

"That's right," said Kingsley. "I can't let anyone go from my department."

"And Bill and I are out," Charlie said. "Percy would know something was up the moment he saw us."

"I suppose we could go to outside help for this," Tonks suggested. "I know my mum wants to help out the Order in any way that she can."

"Andromeda Tonks?" Diggle said, fingering the rim of his violet top hat worriedly. "They would never hire her in the Ministry. One sister's a Death Eater, the other's married to one."

The room's hopes, so briefly lifted, sank again as everyone realized Diggle was right. "It was a good plan, Remus," Kingsley said, when Lupin sighed in frustration. "I do think Percy Weasley needs to be monitored, just not in that way."

Moody harrumphed loudly. "Merlin, don't they teach problem solving anymore?" he growled. "The answer's staring you in the face."

McGonagall frowned at him, and a lesser man would have withered away under such a gaze. "What are you on about, Alastor?" she said.

"You need someone who's not an Auror" -- he ticked off on his gnarled fingers -- "hasn't appeared in the _Prophet_ , isn't in the Weasley family, and is an Order member with some undercover experience. That eliminates all of us save one person."

There was silence for a full two seconds until Hestia Jones jumped a little in her seat. "Dear Merlin," she said, cheeks even rosier than usual. "You mean me."

"Well, Hestia?" Lupin said, raising his eyebrows. "Would you be willing to going undercover for us?"

"I'm on the guard duty roster," she said. "Are you sure --"

"Potter's seventeenth birthday is next week," Moody said. He was in charge of the roster, and had drawn up the original shift schedule. "We can accommodate your absence until then, when we stop posting guards."

"And you do already work at the Ministry," Lupin pointed out. "If you prefer, we can give you a day or so to think it over --"

"No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I'll do it. Just help me get my foot in the door in Scrimgeour's staff, and leave the rest to me."

"All in favor of the plans as they currently stand," Lupin said, "say aye." The Order was in resounding agreement.

Lupin approached Hestia once the meeting was adjourned, and everyone was sitting around the kitchen helping themselves to Molly's delicious homemade fudge. Worry showed on his pale face, and Hestia wondered if there was perhaps more to this mission than he had let on. "Hestia," he said, "I feel as if we pressured you into --"

She waved away the rest of his sentence. "I'm doing it because I want to, Remus," she assured him. "I wasn't forced to do anything, don't worry."

He nodded, and looked out over the rest of the room for a moment, silent as he watched the others socialize. "I cannot stress enough that you must tread with caution," he said at last, turning back to her.

Hestia blinked. "The boy isn't a closet Death Eater, is he?"

"No no, just the opposite," Lupin said. "I had him as a student his seventh year, and he follows the rules to the letter, Hestia. I've never met anyone else like him. He is completely dispassionate, and will turn against his own friends and family if they don't adhere to the laws with the same strict interpretation." He gestured with his hand. "His break with Molly and Arthur being a case in point. What we're doing in the Order isn't exactly condoned by the Ministry."

"Are we talking about a Gryffindor or a Slytherin?" she said dryly.

Lupin gave her a wry smile, and poked at his fudge with his fork. "He's a Gryffindor all the way," he said quietly. "He always does what is right. _Always_. Which means that your surveillance of him must be perfect, completely above reproach. If he suspects anything on your part, he will not hesitate to report you to Scrimgeour, and the mission will be a failure."

"Thanks for the heads up, Remus," Hestia said, smiling a little. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

Afterwards, when the members of the Order were heading off to their homes or to Surrey, to keep an eye on the Boy Who Lived, Hestia cautiously approached Molly. The older woman was washing up the dismal kitchen, humming under her breath. "Can I help?" Hestia asked.

"Oh, er..." Molly cast her eyes quickly about the room. "Elphias spilled something on the table, and I'm having a horrible time getting it out." Before she was even finished speaking, Hestia had gone to the dark stain on the table and started trying every stain-removal charm she could think of. Molly smiled, pleased, and turned back to scrubbing the plates and silverware.

"You know," Hestia said after awhile. The stain really was rather stubborn. "I think I've met all of your children now _except_ Percy."

When no answer was immediately forthcoming, she looked up to see Molly dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief again. "A mother's not supposed to have her favorites," she said tearily, "but if I had one, Percy would be it."

Hestia bit her lip, wondering how to continue without upsetting her any more, but Molly solved the problem for her when she went on. "You do need some information if you're going to be keeping an eye on him, don't you?"

"Every little bit will help," Hestia said.

Molly finished with the dishes and the counter, and took a seat at the end of the long trestle table; Hestia gave up on the stain and sat too. "He's third oldest, our Percy," Molly began. "Three years younger than Charlie, and two years older than the twins." She reached into her robes and pulled out an untidy stack of pictures, store receipts, and coupons. Out of these, she withdrew a fairly new photograph and handed it across the table.

Hestia took the photo and looked down to see a tall, thin young man with a serious expression on his freckled face, dressed in somber navy robes. Wire-rimmed glasses perched precisely on the bridge of his nose, and he clutched a book in one hand. He looked the most like Bill, with his clear blue eyes and strong jaw, but there was a slight curl to his carroty hair, just like Ginny and the twins, and that was Ron's long nose he shared and Charlie's generous mouth. As she watched, Ginny darted into the frame and tried to pull him out of his position, but Percy held steadfast, nose in the air, staring directly at the camera, so Photo Ginny eventually gave up and stomped off. Such focus and determination in one so young. She knew the symptoms well: here was a young man who had grown up far too fast, and had suffered silently for it.

"He's a good boy," Molly was saying, and Hestia handed back the photo. "The twins were nearly the death of me, and Ron was a fussy baby, but Percy was always there to help me and do what I asked." She straightened proudly. "He was Head Boy his seventh year, did you know that? And a prefect before that. Earned twelve O.W.L.s, too!"

"Just like Bill," Hestia said, remembering another conversation she'd had with Ron, some months ago.

"Yes, just like Bill, but these things matteredmore to Percy," Molly said, frowning. "He had to be Head Boy or else. Not that we would've been upset if he hadn't made it, Arthur and I aren't like that, but it was so important to him."

"I've known one or two men like that," Hestia said dryly. "They don't care about anything but the next promotion, or the big paycheck, or the recognition."

"Yes, so true," Molly said, nodding sadly. "I don't think he had any friends in school, which always worried me. Oh, he has a girlfriend -- last I heard, they live together somewhere in London -- Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw, lovely girl. But no other friends that I know of. He wants to be Minister one day, and I have no doubt he'll do it." Her lower lip trembled as she gazed down at his picture. "But he's so changed now. I don't even know my own son anymore." She shook her head.

"You have my word I'll look out for him," Hestia promised. She reached out and touched Molly's hand, and gave it a comforting squeeze. "I'll make sure he's safe from harm."

"Thank you," Molly said, smiling through her sadness. "That's all I can ask of you. Watch over him until he comes back to us. He's a good boy, Percy, he just..." She wiped at her eyes and sighed.

"I'll keep him safe," Hestia said again, as Molly dissolved into tears.

 

~

 

"Well, that should be all for today, Weasley," Scrimgeour said, yawning hugely.

Percy Weasley nodded and made a few last notations on his scroll. "Nothing else I can help you with, sir?"

"Actually --" Scrimgeour looked suddenly alert, but Percy missed it. "I heard something this morning, slipped my mind until now. Dolores told me that your father successfully put an end to an illegal Muggle artifacts ring last week."

Percy stiffened under Scrimgeour's gaze, fighting back the bitterness that came whenever a family member was mentioned. "I'm glad the lawbreakers were caught, sir," he said evenly. "I remember hearing you say last month that they'd been causing a great deal of trouble."

"Oh, but you haven't spoken to your parents about it?" Scrimgeour leaned across his desk, shaggy eyebrows raised. "I would've thought the whole family would've been happy for Arthur's success."

"I'm sure they are, sir," Percy said. "If there's anything else you need...?"

"We're invited to dine with the Parkinsons in a few weeks," Scrimgeour said, shuffling a few papers around on his desk until he found the invitation. "It's a formal event, several of the prominent wizarding families and Minstry officials will be there. Parkinson's never given me a reason to think he's up to no good, but I still've got my eye on him."

"As you should, sir," Percy dutifully agreed. "You said I'm invited as well?"

"Yes, so wear your best robes and bring that lovely girlfriend of yours." The Minister gave him a benevolent smile. "It should be quite a night."

"I'll mark it on my calendar," he said, scratching a note for himself in the margin of his parchment.

"That's all for now, then, Weasley." Scrimgeour dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"Very good, sir." Percy stood and left the Minster's expansive and expensive office to head for his own, pitifully small one down the corridor, looking over the list of things Scrimgeour had given for him to do before he left for the evening:

  * _Draft proposal for Wizengamot -- memorial for Dumbledore?_
  * _Check in with Azkaban guards re: security of prisoners_
  * _Look into recent Death Eater sightings_
  * _Read and summarise report on Inferi attacks_
  * _Purchase treacle tarts for Mafalda Hopkirk's birthday party_
  * _Drop off ceremonial robes at Kwik Kleen -- Diagon Alley_



Percy sighed as he looked up at the tiny clock on the wall -- it was nearly four. He'd be home late again, after he'd promised Penelope that he would try to be on time. They were going to her parents' home in Brighton that evening for dinner, and she had pleaded with him to make it his priority to be there.

"It'll make a good impression if you're there on time," she had said crisply, her tone not allowing for argument. "Please, Percy, I'm practically on my knees --"

"I'll do my best, Penelope," he'd said, kissing her forehead, before he went back to studying the Annals of International Wizarding Law in Europe and the Americas.

And so these two vitally important options sat weighed in the balance, teetering back and forth. Did he leave early, his work undone, in order to see the people that might one day be his future in-laws? Or did he skip the dinner and fulfill his duty to the Minister and, by extension, the wizards of England, by staying to finish his work?

To Percy, the choice was a painfully obvious one.

Penelope simply didn't understand how important his job was, Percy decided, as he began drafting Scrimgeour's proposal for a memorial to Dumbledore. She worked as a junior librarian in the Agrippa von Nettesheim Library at the end of Diagon Alley, and she didn't have to handle all the same pressures he did. No, she spent her day cataloguing books and helping researchers with whatever topics they were interested in, hunting down the books that would complete their quests for knowledge. She didn't have to be fluent in Russian, or memorize the French cabinet's exact tea preferences, or remember to ask the American Secretary of Magic how his daughter's Quidditch career was going. Penelope had been upset with him before, but she always understood. He was positive she would understand this time too, her parents's opinion notwithstanding.

So it was with no small reassurance of her empathy that he returned to their flat in Marylebone, shortly after nine, and expected to find her waiting for him. Penelope usually saved some supper for him, kept warm with Heating Charms, and left it sitting neatly on the tiny table in their equally tiny kitchen.

But tonight, there was nothing there. The kitchen was dark and cold.

"Penelope?" he called, frowning. Had something happened? Perhaps she had gone to her parents's house alone, when she realized he wasn't coming home? He set down his bag by the wall and walked towards their bedroom, noticing that a thin line of light showed underneath the door.

He heard her stifled sob before he pushed inside, and saw Penelope's red face before she noticed him standing in the doorway. "Oh, there you are," she said. A few tears glistened her eyes, but her body was tensed with rage. "So happy you could _grace_ me with your presence." She flung another set of robes onto the bed.

No, not onto the bed. Into her suitcase.

Percy blinked, frozen in place. "Pen--"

"I hope someone died in a freak accident," she went on, throwing clothes into her case, "or there was a Death Eater attack at the Ministry, or you were struck with a Body-Bind Curse and were unable to get out of it."

"Penel--"

"Those are the only excuses I'll accept," she said, glaring at him. As he watched, a lone tear trickled down her cheek, but she scrubbed it viciously away with the heel of her hand. "I told you specifically, Percy, that my parents wanted to have us over for supper tonight --"

"And I remembered that," Percy said, stepping into the room. "I never forgot. The thing is --"

"Yes, tell me what the thing is with you," she said, stopping her haphazard packing. "Why would you rather spend time being an errand boy for that man than be with your girlfriend?"

" _That man_ is the Minister of Magic," Percy ground out, his eyebrows drawing together, "and I'm not some ill-treated little intern, you know. What I do is very important and ensures that --"

"Like I haven't heard that before," she said dryly. With a fierce swish of her wand, she flipped her suitcase closed and zipped it up. "My parents weren't pleased, you know. I had to tell them yet again that my wonderful boyfriend couldn't come by to visit them, because he was off licking Scrimgeour's boots --"

"Don't talk about the Minister like that!" Percy cried, eyes flashing angrily.

Penelope only gazed at him for a moment, her wand hanging limply by her side. "A little boy made fun of me when I bollocksed up a simple Severing Charm last week," she said. "You were there, Percy. Standing right next to me."

He couldn't see where she was going, so he remained silent, confused.

"You didn't say a word to him," she said. Another tear slid down her face, and this time she didn't wipe it away. "You just looked at him and kept talking."

"Penelope," he said, hands spread wide. She just had to understand, the way she always did. "You shouldn't have listened to that boy. He didn't even look like he'd been to Hogwarts yet! But when you talk like that about the Minister --"

"Get him to warm your bed then," Penelope said, her voice catching slightly. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled it off the bed. "I won't any longer, since that's obviously what you want."

"What I want?"

"When was the last time you did anything for me?" she said. "When was the last time you told me you loved me?"

"Penelope, I do love you," he pleaded, stepping in front of her.

She closed her eyes briefly. "I can't do this anymore, Percy," she whispered, gazing up at him with pitying eyes. "The way we live -- the way you're gone all of the time -- it doesn't work for me."

Percy felt his heart sink at her words. She couldn't really be leaving him, could she? She had threatened to before, but she would say it in a joking way, to show she didn't mean it. "Penelope," he implored, "we've gone through rough times before, and I was always there for you. When you thought you might be pregnant, our seventh year --"

"You told me it would be better if we got rid of it," she said bitterly. "Lucky for us I miscarried, didn't I?"

"Well," he spluttered, regrouping, "it _was_ the best for both of us --"

"Do you really believe in what you say, Percy," Penelope asked, tilting her head to one side, "or do you just say it because it's the right thing to do?"

"Of course I believe in the right thing," he said, insulted that she thought otherwise. "There's a reason it's called the _right_ thing. Now look, I know I haven't exactly been fair in working late so often --"

"You've made me promises before," she said, shaking her head. "And do you know how many you've broken? All of them, Percy. Every single bloody one. I'm through. I'm gone."

He only stood numbly as she shouldered past him, headed for the door. His mind raced to catch up with what she had said, what she was about to do. She was really leaving him. After having dated for nearly four years, it was over. Just like that. Percy thought that maybe he should feel more remorse that they couldn't have worked out their issues, compromised, come to an agreement -- he wasn't exactly thrilled to see her go. He was accustomed to her presence in his life.

He left their bedroom and reached the front room just as she was about to step out into the hallway.

Penelope gave him an unreadable look. "Begging won't work, Percy," she said.

"I know," he replied, steadying himself with a deep breath. "I was going to say that it's going to be better this way. You can find someone willing to spend more time with you, and I won't be burdened by commitments outside my duties at the Ministry."

She blinked, shocked speechless a moment, then covered her mouth with her hand. "Burdened?" she said, her voice hitching again. "Oh God, Percy..."

"I'm serious, Penelope," he said. The more he said it, the easier this would be, he knew. "We obviously can't meet in the middle --"

"I know you're serious," she said, "and that's the worst part." She sniffed and wiped at her face. "Goodbye, Percy. Merlin help the next witch that falls for you."

She shut the door behind her, and the finality of the sound made him jump, still reeling at everything that had happened. Part of him knew this was the only way it could be -- their lives just didn't synch the way they used to, and if he was going to be Minister of Magic one day, his work required his full attention. And yet, living without Penelope...could he imagine anything more empty or lonely?

A bird pecked at the window, and he raced to get it when he recognized Scrimgeour's private eagle owl. The attached note said that there was going to be an emergency meeting early the next morning to discuss what steps the Ministry would take after Harry Potter turned seventeen. He needed to brush up on everything he knew about the first war, see that he had an up-to-date list of present and suspected Death Eaters, and he wasn't to forget to bring everyone breakfast. Penelope was suddenly the very last thing on his mind. 


	2. Toil and Trouble

**Chapter Two -- Toil and Trouble**

 " _...and that was Icarus and the Wings, playing their current hit, 'Into the Sun.' In music news, the Wizarding Music Association announced their nominations for the 405th annual Wizzies..._ "

Percy reached over and fumbled for the knob on his clock radio, groaning when he instead found the volume control.

" _...The Weird Sisters, for the third year running, top the nominations list with a total of ten nods, including Best Song for 'Hurly Burly', Best Producer, and Most Creative Use of..."_ Penelope, unusually, didn't make a sound as he got the volume down to its normal level, and at last turned it off. She didn't have to get up for another hour or so. "Pen?" he mumbled, blinking away sleep. Then he reached over to her side of the bed and found it cold, and remembered.

His heart sank. This was the third morning he had done this.

Percy perched his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he shuffled towards the toilet for his morning ablutions. Gone were all of Penelope's various cremes and lotions, her shower cap, her sensible blue robe and towel set, her worn brown slippers, her toothbrush. Percy's own shaving kit and soap looked lonely sitting by themselves on the counter, but he wouldn't think about that right now. Maybe some other time.

Twenty minutes later, showered, dressed, and ready to go, Percy went to the little bakery they -- he -- lived above for his morning tea and muffin, then walked to the Earl's Court station, his work robes stowed away in his bag. It was an overcast day already, more like what they'd have in March than July, and people who hadn't thought to bring jackets with them huddled into their thin summer clothes for more warmth. As he ducked into the Tube station and punched his monthly pass at the turnstile with everyone else, he shivered a little at the surge of cold air coming up from the tunnels.

"Mind the gap between the train and the platform," a generic female voice warned him, right when he stepped off the elevator to watch the train pull into the station. Muggles rushed off, their heads down, and Muggles rushed on, to sit or stand quietly while they sped off towards their destination. Percy had been lucky enough to get a seat, and he settled with his bag on his lap to sit out his daily commute.

There was no prior sign that this morning would be any different than any other. A mother with a fussy baby tried to soothe her child with a back rub and gentle words; a businessman poured over the latest stock prices from New York; a university student did some last minute studying for what looked to be an exam in organic chemistry. No one spoke except in murmurs, no one made eye contact. At each station, some passengers got off and more got on. It was an ordinary day on the Underground.

Covent Garden, the station where Percy got off, was packed per usual, with people jostling each other on the platform in order to get a precious seat on the train. Percy had to fight his way to his feet, trying not to step on toes or push anyone, and barely made it off before the doors hissed shut behind him. One man a car down had stuck his briefcase in the doors to keep them from closing, and was now wrestling to pry them open and jump onboard. A yellow-shirted Underground employee, already hacked off so early in the morning, brushed past Percy on her way to tell him off.

"Sir, the train is leaving," she announced, hands on her hips. "Step away from the edge."

The man gave her an exasperated look. "I'm going to be late for a _very_ important meeting --"

Percy nodded approvingly and turned back to the way out. The crowds had bottlenecked at the exit, again as usual, and he stood waiting for the people in front of him to move forward.

A sharp, abrupt _crack_ suddenly rang through the Tube station.

Percy blinked, startled. If he hadn't been surrounded by Muggles, he would've sworn --

Another _crack_ , this one closer.

Another.

And another.

And _another._

"What the devil is that?" the businessman demanded. The Underground employee yanked free the briefcase and pushed it into his chest. Others had begun turning towards the noise as the train pulled away. Confused mutters swept through the crowd.

Two more _cracks_.

Percy saw a black-hooded shape Apparate onto the closest train. He caught sight of the white skull mask where a face should have been just as the train left the platform.

Death Eaters.

"Back!" Percy screamed. He fumbled in his pocket for his wand. "Everyone _get back from the edge! Away from the train!_ "

"He's got a gun!" someone shrieked. The crowds jolted into action, forcing themselves against the tiled wall. Their fear echoed in the tunnel.

"Get _back_!" Percy shouted desperately, pushing through people. "I'm from the Ministry! Move _away from the train!_ " He raised his wand to cast a Shield Charm over the platform.

And the train, only just down the tunnel, exploded in a burst of fire and magic.

Percy felt himself lifted off his feet, flying through the air and landing hard on his back. The air was knocked clear out of his lungs. All around him was screaming, screaming, and more explosions, more and more, one after the other. Eight bombs, he counted. _Eight_.

Without anywhere else to go, the fire cloud from the bombs came roaring towards the platform. Percy scrambled to his feet and extended his wand again. " _Protego maximus!_ " he cried. Out shot a jet of pure blue light. It flattened and spread to cover the opening, and the fire slammed against it like a solid thing.

"What was that?" Percy turned and saw the Underground employee, clutching one arm with the other, staring at the Shield Charm that still glowed at the tunnel entrance. "What are you?"

"That should hold until the fire consumes itself," Percy told her quickly. There was no time to Obliviate everyone; he'd have to depend on the wizards who came to investigate the magical influx from the bombs. "Stay here. Help will come."

The employee nodded, a wildly confused look on her face. Percy checked on the Charm one last time, but it held. Then, with a quick slash of his wand, he had Apparated away.

He appeared in Diagon Alley, in front of the Floo Network hub. Even though they couldn't know what had happened, witches and wizards all up and down the street had stopped where they were, frowning up at the sky. "Did you feel that?" one witch asked her plump friend. Percy didn't have the authority to say, so he only went inside and Floo'd to the Ministry. The melee there was even worse than it had been in the Alley and at the Tube station.

"Scrimgeour needs to see you at once," Eric said at the security checkpoint, waving him through. "Something about explosions on the Tube --"

"Right, I'm on my way," Percy managed. He hurtled into the elevator and slammed his fist on the button he needed.

Everyone was already present in the Minister's inner office when Percy burst in, sweating and panting for breath. "-- the Dark Mark -- ah, there you are, Weasley," Scrimgeour said, looking at him from over the tops of his glasses. Percy shrank back from his disapproving gaze.

"The Tube," he explained breathlessly. He couldn't get out anything else.

"Yes, thank you, we're already aware of what happened this morning." Scrimgeour turned back to the rest of his staffers. "The Dark Mark was found over the train wreckage, but the Obliviators removed it before the Muggle authorities arrived on the scene," he continued. "Witches and wizards in disguise are already joining the Muggle rescue crews and assessing the damage done. We think the Death Eaters used some kind of bomb, but the crew from Magical Catastrophes says they've never seen anything like them."

A bright purple memo zoomed into the room then, did a little loop-the-loop, and landed on Scrimgeour's desk. The Minister swore colorfully as he read it. "There's been a third attack," he announced. Everyone groaned. Percy couldn't believe his ears. There had been _more_? "This one was near Covent Garden, on the Piccadilly line."

"I told them to wait," Percy said. The other staffers turned to look at him, and then they noticed how sooty his clothes were. "I contained the explosion with an amplified Shield Charm, and they're waiting for help now."

Scrimgeour nodded curtly. "Very good."

"When is the Prime Minister going to be informed?" asked one witch. Scrimgeour had hired her as Drury's replacement a day earlier, and she had slid smoothly into the well-oiled machine that was the Ministerial staff.

Scrimgeour sank back into his seat. "I've been on the Floo with Fudge --"

"The Law of Muggle and Magical Cooperation is unequivocal in this, Minister," she pressed, her dark eyes intent. "You-Know-Who has made it clear that he has no compunctions about attacking Muggles, and their lives are at as much risk as ours are. Major _must_ be told."

"And the incoming one as well," Ackerley chimed in. "Tony what's-his-face."

"Right, well," the Minister said, "I will tell the Prime Minister -- John or Tony or whomever -- once we have a more complete picture of what happened. St. Mungo's sent over word a few minutes ago that they are equipped to handle any Muggles with magical injuries, and I don't doubt that their resources will be used to their fullest extent."

Percy winced and ducked his head as the rest of the staff's discussion went on around him. Since the madness at Covent Garden had hardly allowed him time to think before acting, that fact had escaped him. Innocent Muggles had died that morning. Percy's stomach twisted at the thought, and he tried to not be sick right on the carpet.

"...Jones will handle the legal angle of all of this," Scrimgeour said, and abruptly Percy realized he should have been taking notes. He snatched a quill and parchment from his bag and raced to catch up. "Look for precedents, most likely from the first war, the necessary procedures and protocol for an event of this magnitude. Dolores, if you would oversee the work of the Obliviators?"

"Of course, Rufus," Umbridge replied sweetly.

"Fitzpatrick, I want suspects. I want to know where every single suspected Death Eater was at eight-thirty this morning."

"Done, sir," Fitzpatrick replied. 

"Ackerley, you're evidence," he went on. "I need anything that can tell us what the Death Eaters used for their bombs, how they got them past the Muggle security, when they were planted on that train."

"I'm on it."

"Weasley, I want a complete list of the people who were on those trains." Percy's quill froze over his parchment. "Magical and Muggle, the passengers and the conductors, who was killed and who survived."

"Yes, sir," Percy whispered.

There was full silence a moment while Scrimgeour just sat there, behind his desk. "Well?" he bellowed, and the office sprang into motion.

A light hand touched Percy's shoulder, and he looked up from his notes to see the black-haired witch who had replaced Drury. "Come with me," she said, and she guided Percy out of the inner office and down the corridor to the toilets on their floor, holding his elbow in her hand. Percy had barely reached the first stall before he had emptied his stomach of that morning's breakfast.

His face burned as he huddled over the toilet seat, his knees getting cold on the tiled floor. How unprofessional of him, to get sick right when the Minister needed him the most. This witch, whoever she was, the rest of the staff, Scrimgeour himself -- they must think him a lightweight now. Unable to do his job. What a disgrace he was.

"Seems I was just in time," the witch said, on the other side of the stall door. "I thought you looked a bit green."

Percy wiped his mouth with a bit of tissue and then flushed the toilet, pulling himself slowly to his feet. When he left the stall, he couldn't meet her eyes. "Er -- thanks," he said softly.

"Rinse your mouth out and then come with me," she said. "I have something for you." She squeezed his shoulder and left the loo, leaving him to do as she had said.

Percy's first instinct was to not go to her office, for he had embarrassed himself enough for one day, but as he spat water into the sink and looked up into the mirror above it, he decided to do it anyway. He looked ghastly, absolutely awful. He could even hear his mother's voice in his head, fretting over the way his cheeks were so hollow, and his skin so pale. What he wouldn't have given to have one of her homemade stomach remedies right then, with some of her famous chicken noodle soup.

Drury's office looked completely different now that it had a new occupant. Percy glanced around as he entered, taking in the photographs from all over the world, the old Hogwarts pictures with smiling classmates, and several articles about the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team, mostly centering around the captain. The black-haired witch sat behind her desk, rooting through one of the drawers.

"My cousin," she said, noticing him focus on an article about a recent Harpies victory. "Gwenog Jones. Vicious wench, she is, but I adore her just the same." In the photo accompanying the article, Gwenog gave Percy a nasty look and started gesturing rudely with her wand. "So do you follow Quidditch?"

"Hm?" Percy said, distracted. He turned to face her.

She smiled up at him from her seat. "I subscribe to _Quidditch Weekly_ myself," she said. "Haven't been to a game in ages, but I don't miss a one on the Wireless."

"Oh -- no, not really," he admitted. She invited him to sit and he did, rubbing his clammy palms on his trousers. "I don't have the time. It's rather involved, isn't it? Adding up scores and wins and all that. I just don't have the time."

"Shame, that." She wrestled with something in her desk, then pulled out a bag labeled _miscellaneous_. "Here. For your stomach." She fished out a phial of dark blue liquid that seemed to glow a bit in the overhead light.

Percy took it from her, but eyed it suspiciously. "Er --"

"My mum's own stomachache remedy," she said, smiling again at his obvious unease. The bag went back into its drawer with a fierce shove. "Works wonders. Go on, I'm not trying to poison you."

Percy studied it a moment more, and looked up at her to gauge her expression. Before he could convince himself of wrongdoing on her part -- she _had_ kept him from being sick on the Minister's carpet, after all -- he uncorked the phial and downed its contents. Almost instantly, the roiling nausea in his stomach settled.

"If you can't do the report, you should let Scrimgeour know," she said, taking back the empty potion phial.

"I can do it," Percy was quick to say.

She gave him a patronising look. "So vomiting when given an assignment is a natural reaction for you."

"My breakfast disagreed with me. I'm fine now."

"Look --" She rolled her eyes. "I've watched you the past few days. I know you slave away for Scrimgeour and he barely pays you any attention. You don't need to pretend anything with me. I'm not your boss, I'm your coworker."

Percy shook his head. "I thank you for the potion, but really, I'm all right now, and I will do the report as the Minister asked. There is no problem."

She shrugged, shuffling through some papers on her desk. "As you say," she said. Then, biting her lip, she said softly, "You were at Covent Garden, then? When the bomb went off?"

He nodded, hearing again the thundering of the eight explosions. "I got off that very train -- ten seconds before the Death Eaters Apparated onto it and blew it up." He shuddered.

"Dear Merlin," she said, leaning forward intently. Her usually pink cheeks had gone pale.

"But -- Scrimgeour said there were more?" Percy asked. "Two other trains were attacked?"

"Unfortunately, yes," she said, with a tired sigh. "The first was at just past eight this morning, on the Central line near Marble Arch. The second, twenty minutes later, at Liverpool Street station. That one was the biggest, seeing as four Tube lines go through there. Then yours, just a few minutes ago. We don't know yet if we should expect more."

Percy was silent, not sure what to think. The Minister would handle everything, he knew, with the gravity and care the situation required, but still... People had died that morning. The existence of the magical world had been thrust out into the open where Muggles could see it. You-Know-Who was no longer content to quietly build his armies and bide his time.

This was a declaration of all-out war.

She peered at him a bit longer, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "You're sure you're all right?" she asked again.

Percy pursed his lips. "There's no need to worry about me, er --" He blinked.

"Yes?"

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, "I just realized I don't know your name."

She smiled a little and extended her hand across the desk. "Hestia Jones, pleasure to meet you."

"Percy Weasley." They shook and leaned back in their seats. "As I said, Ms Jones, there is no need to worry about me. I'm fine now, and thanks to your quick thinking the Minister still has his carpet." He stood, and she followed suit. "We both have work to do now, and the victims in the Underground to think about."

"You're right, of course," Hestia said. "Just remember what I said about not needing to impress me."

Percy gave her a tight smile. "As you wish, Ms Jones. It was lovely to finally meet you properly, even if the circumstances were less than flattering." She laughed at that, and Percy left her office to go to his own.

He was greeted by the sight of a paper airplane memo hovering over his desk, carrying in its folds a rather battered letter. Percy frowned when he saw the handwriting on the front, the curly, slightly lopsided script in which his name had been written. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised. He had no friends who would write him, apart from a random letter last year from Oliver Wood, probably written when he was thoroughly pissed. No, the only post he received these days was from his own mother.

"Cheers," he said to the airplane-memo, which swirled in midair and shot out of the room. Percy sat behind his desk and tossed the letter into his in tray. Seeing how weather-beaten it was, he guessed that Errol must have run into some trouble delivering it, but no matter what the poor, decrepit bird had gone through to get it specially to the Ministry, Percy would not read it until he went home that evening. He never handled personal matters while he was on the Ministry's time, and his mother would know and understand that. He had work to do.

For the remainder of the day, Percy was Flooing the Department of Magical Catastrophes almost constantly, checking and double-checking the names he was given for the people that had been on the attacked Tube trains and at the nearby stations. As it had been during the morning rush hour, every car on nearly every train had been packed to capacity with passengers. Percy's stomach protested numerous times throughout the day, particularly when he was making notes on his victims roster like _magical third-degree burns, 60 percent of body,_ and _missing fingers from left hand_ , but Hestia's stomach remedy kept working, and he wasn't sick again.

Everyone kept working on their assignments even through lunch, save Umbridge, who never mixed with the rest of them. Percy was sent out to pick up something from the local Indian place, and as they worked their way through their tandoori chicken they also discussed the findings that they would include in their reports, gathered around the long table in the conference room.

"Scrimgeour went into a meeting with John Major and Tony Blair an hour ago," Hestia reported, tucking some hair behind her ear. "Needless to say, Blair had to be told that our world exists in the first place..." They all chuckled halfheartedly.

"Not a single suspected Death Eater can be accounted for so far," Fitzpatrick moaned. He shoveled curry into his mouth. "I've only made it halfway through the list, but there you are. This is looking worse and worse every hour."

"You're bloody right about that," Ackerley said, holding his head in his hands. "They've found parts from twenty-four separate bombs in the debris, one for each train car. Still no idea what detonated them, nor what they were. One theory was that they were modified and vastly improved-upon Dungbombs, but that hasn't been confirmed yet."

"That would explain the death toll," Percy said evenly, staring at his glass of darjeeling tea. "Ninety-seven dead, several hundred more injured, and they haven't even begun checking the bodies at Covent Garden yet." Everyone at the table winced in concert.

While Ackerley and Fitzpatrick continued describing their findings, Hestia leaned over and lightly touched Percy's sleeve. "How are you holding up?" she whispered.

Percy nodded stiffly. "I'm fine, thanks," he replied.

"I'm sorry if I seem overbearing," she said, smiling apologetically. "I suppose I can't help mothering everyone I sense is in trouble."

One by one, weighted down by the horrifying news that kept coming in from the Obliviators and the Magical Catastrophes squads at the bomb sites, the Ministerial staffers all finished their lunches and returned to their offices. Percy looked despairingly at the scroll he had begun that morning, now filled with the names of Muggles who had been injured and killed, and the few lucky ones that had somehow escaped without a scratch. Rolling up the sleeves of his work robes, and the sleeves of the white Oxford he wore underneath, he dove back in.

The rescue teams reached the first car in the Covent Garden train nearly an hour after he returned from lunch, after thoroughly looking over the bodies in the other trains one last time. Again his private hearth filled with the heads of the witches and wizards digging through the debris, each message often painfully short and to the point. _Doris Baker-Coulson_ , Percy wrote down after the last one, _severed leg, magical second-degree burns._ The bombs at Covent Garden, it seemed, had been the most deadly of them all.

He was still simply going through the motions several hours later, receiving and confirming reports of the Tube victims, when the very last few came in.

"Just two more here, and I think that's about it for Covent Garden and the day," said the witch that had been contacting him the most, a pretty woman with curly blonde hair. "First: Nigel Wheatley, concussion, magical first-degree burns on eighty percent of his body." Percy dutifully added his name to the roster. "Last one, Andrew Clearwater, dead instantly from the force of the explosion. That's all, we'll be in touch, Percy," she finished, and then she was gone.

Percy had written out the name and status completely before he realized what the witch had said.

_Andrew Clearwater_.

He read over the name once, twice, three times.

_Dead instantly._ Dear Merlin. Percy leaned back in his seat, a shiver of fear and anxiety snaking down his spine.

Andrew Clearwater was Penelope's father. 


	3. A Momentary Lapse

**Chapter Three -- A Momentary Lapse**

Hestia raced out of the Ministry as soon as she possibly could, after leaving her report for Scrimgeour on his desk and punching out with Umbridge. The hateful old witch was responsible for their weekly timecards. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had told Hestia some of what had gone on during their fifth year at Hogwarts, and Hestia still couldn't quite look Umbridge in the eye, knowing what she had done.

When she arrived at Grimmauld Place, only Bill was there, fixing himself something to eat in the dark kitchen. He acknowledged her with a slight lift of his chin when she burst breathlessly into the room. "All right?" he rasped. "Mum told me they're okay, and we're to wait until they get back."

"Merlin," Hestia groaned, collapsing at the table. "You have no idea how much time I spent today wishing I could skive off and join them."

Bill made a sympathetic sound. Hestia noticed abruptly that he was preparing himself a steak that looked more than a little undercooked. "Same here. But You-Know-Who could win the war, and the goblins at Gringotts would still show up for work the next morning."

"And Remus went with them all?" Hestia asked. "Isn't he still recovering from the last full moon?"

"Somewhat, yeah." He brought his plate over to the table and sat across from her. "Hell, Mum said he was first out the door this morning."

"He does far too much," she grumped, tracing an old burn on the table with the tip of her finger.

There was a brief pause, while Bill dug into his rare steak with enthusiasm and Hestia wearily recollected herself, banishing any guilty thoughts about Lupin's fragile health. "I can only imagine what it must have been like there," she said slowly. "Percy saw the third one go off --"

At that, Bill started violently, blue eyes wide in shock. " _What_?"

"Oh -- he's fine, really," Hestia quickly assured him. Bill's scarred features sagged in relief. "No, but -- he got off the train seconds before the Death Eaters Apparated onto it and..." She mimed an explosion with her hands.

"Mum's going to ask about him when she gets back, you know," Bill commented. "I wouldn't mention that to her, though, or she'll go absolutely spare. God knows she's got enough to worry about with Ron running off with Harry and Hermione later this summer to do whatever it is, and Charlie back in Romania until the wedding."

"Good point," she said, nodding. "I can't imagine how she does it, keeping track of a husband and seven children during all this."

"That's Mum," Bill said fondly, smiling. Silence again. The clock in the corner -- what Hestia momentarily realized was Molly's family clock -- chimed once as the hands labeled Arthur, Molly, Fred, and George moved to _traveling_.

"Hestia," Bill said abruptly, tilting his head to one side. "How was Percy? During everything that happened?"

Hestia had been wondering that herself all day. "Well -- he's rather...sensitive, isn't he?" she began cautiously.

Bill snorted. " _Rather_ sensitive?" he said. "You've seen how the rest of us act -- always taking the mickey, but it's all in fun. Say something less than flattering about Perce..." Bill shook his head. "Poor bloke shuts right down and runs off to be by himself. At least, that's what he would do when we were kids. Mum was constantly yelling at the rest of us to lay off and go easy on him."

"He threw up," Hestia said baldly. Bill made a face. "When Scrimgeour made mention of all the bombing victims -- plus, of course, what I'm sure he saw at Covent Garden -- I barely managed to get him out of the room before he was sick." She blinked, rubbing the side of her face with one hand. "I wasn't expecting it," she realized. "Before then he just seemed so collected all of the time. Like nothing bothered him."

"Because he's gotten good at hiding how things affect him," Bill said. "Otherwise the twins would go at him twice as often. But I'd leave that bit out too, when Mum asks." He scraped his fork against his empty plate. "And I apologize if this puts you off your appetite," he added, gesturing to the plate. "I know Mum complains sometimes, but -- I just really enjoy rare meat now."

Hestia chuckled humourlessly. "I'm sure she'd rather you changed your food preference than be off howling at the moon with Remus." He nodded grimly.

The Weasleys -- those that had been on duty, for Bill told Hestia that Ginny was upstairs pouting, and the trio were in the library -- and the rest of the Order arrived not long after, bloody and ragged and covered in stone dust. "Don't anyone move, or you'll track soot all over the floor," Molly bellowed, immediately taking control. With Diggle's help, she set about casting Cleaning Charms over everyone's robes and hair, Banishing the extra soil and stones that refused to budge.

Hestia, having seen the arms of the family clock switch back to _headquarters_ , had anticipated their arrival and had tea and biscuits ready for them all. Fred and George attacked the plate ravenously, and the rest were not far behind. No one looked noticeably injured, but even so -- "Dare I ask how it was?" Hestia said, wincing preemptively.

A groan rose up from them all. "They look like war zones, the Tube stations," Arthur said. He sank wearily onto the bench, and Molly pushed a cup of tea into his hand.

"What were the lot of you able to do?" Hestia asked, pouring tea for Tonks.

"The Ministry actually had a good handle on the situation once we arrived," Kingsley said. "I know most of the witches and wizards in Magical Catastrophes, they're a decent group. Everyone was calm and efficient, doing their jobs. Tonks and I were with the rest of our department interviewing witnesses --" he waved to the rest of the Order "-- this lot were helping clear out rubble and retrieving bodies, and then helping the Obliviators wipe memories."

"We wanted to ask you about that, actually," Lupin spoke up, from his seat at the table. Hestia thought he looked as though a strong enough gust of wind would knock him flat. "Since you know the laws better than any of us. Is Scrimgeour going to have the Prime Minister tell the Muggle public what's going on?"

"Not quite yet," Hestia admitted, "obviously since the Obliviators were out there today. He spent all morning and much of the afternoon in a closed meeting with Major and Blair -- that's who's taking over soon, his party just won Parliament -- and they've decided to hold off on the announcement until they have more details."

Her news was met with grumbles and muttered complaints. "That's not right," Fred declared darkly. "Hundreds of Muggles were attacked today."

"They deserve to know what's going on," George agreed, frowning.

Lupin gave the two of them the barest of smiles. "I hate to disagree with you, but I think Scrimgeour knows what he's doing," he said quietly. "A press release now would be incomplete, with only half the needed facts. Not knowing the bigger picture leaves people to fill in the blanks themselves."

"I'm with Lupin," Moody growled. "Nasty as this whole business is, things still need to be done the right way."

"I don't like it," Hestia admitted. "It looks good on paper to do things according to procedure, but people are dying." She sighed and gazed down into her tea. "Merlin I wish we knew where Snape's loyalties lay. If he had been able to let us know about the attack --"

The atmosphere in the room changed at that, becoming tense and uncomfortable. "It's no use wondering how things could've been different," Arthur said solemnly. "We need to do what we can and not waste a thought on Severus."

Hestia listened to the rest of the Order, as they went on telling her and Bill what they had done and seen that day: Tube tunnels completely collapsed and destroyed. Victims with horrible burns and injuries, if they weren't already dead. The few that had survived had taken over an entire wing at St. Mungo's, and were being treated for a vast array of injuries. The trains at Marble Arch and Covent Garden had just left their stations when the attacks occurred, and passengers standing out on the platforms had been as seriously injured as the ones actually on the trains. Hestia could only shake her head at the waste, helpless to change any of it.

"Wait," Tonks said abruptly. "That reminds me -- who else was at Covent Garden?"

"We were," the twins said together.

"And me," Diggle piped up.

"Did you lot see the line on the wall?" Tonks asked, eyebrows drawn together. "Right at the tunnel opening, clear as you please --"

"Oh -- oh _yeah_!" Fred said, remembering. "That was odd, that was."

"The soot just ended in a perfect line at the opening," George said, frowning. "Almost like --"

"Someone cast a Shield Charm there," Fred filled in.

"There was a wizard at Covent Garden?" Arthur said skeptically. Hestia caught Bill's eyes and gave him a meaningful look. "I didn't hear that."

"One of the Underground employees I spoke with said she saw a young man shoot something blue at the explosions," Tonks said. "He then told her to wait for help and disappeared. Said he was from the Ministry."

"Not a single person on the platform was injured seriously," George said.

"It was a bloody brilliant Shield Charm," Fred said, shaking his head.

"Only a really powerful wizard could've cast it." George sounded almost envious.

"From the Ministry, hm?" Kingsley said, rubbing his jaw. "Wonder who that was. I don't know many Ministry employees who use the Tube to commute to work."

"Whoever it was," Tonks said, her eyes wide, "he saved the lives of about two hundred and fifty people."

_Merlin, Percy did that_ , Hestia thought with wonder, as the conversation flowed around her. She'd known he was a Gryffindor, reckless and brave as the rest of them, but she never would have thought him capable of thinking on his feet like that. Even so, just hearing Fred and George unwittingly praise their older brother, when they had thrown food at him last Christmas... Hestia's heart swelled with sadness. If only Percy had been there to hear it. The poor boy didn't get much encouragement or positive feedback from Scrimgeour or his staff, and Merlin knew he desperately needed to hear some.

She returned to the discussion when she heard Lupin call her name. "I don't expect you'll have anything to report for us," he said to her, "seeing as you only started working for Scrimgeour yesterday, but if you have anything of note to say about Percy, Hestia?"

"Nothing stands out," she said, awkwardly aware that she had Molly and Arthur's full attention. "Scrimgeour depends on him for a lot, more than anyone else on staff, though I think that may simply be because of his age. He's the youngest by a great deal." She laughed dryly. "All the jobs no one wants to do are dumped on him."

"So Scrimgeour hasn't particularly tried to ask him about his family or the Order?" Lupin pressed.

"No." Hestia shook her head. "The only time I heard Scrimgeour mention the Order was when Percy wasn't in the room, and it's not for -- er, polite company," she finished, blushing furiously at the memory of what the Minister had said.

"Come on, Hes, we're all adults here," George joked. Molly gave him a dark glare; he shut up instantly.

"Anyway," Hestia went on, trying not to laugh at the affronted looks on the twins's faces, "no, nothing important to report. Not yet, at least."

After their informal meeting had wound down, and Molly had started puttering about, preparing a light supper, Kingsley stood up and announced that he couldn't stay. "I've got a few thousand more forms to fill out," he said, rolling his eyes, "and I'll stop by St. Mungo's."

Hestia frowned. "Were you hurt today, Kingsley?" she asked.

Everyone else looked confused for a moment, until looks of wary understanding dawned upon their faces. "Of course, you don't know yet," Lupin said cryptically.

Her hackles raised at that. "About what?" Hestia said, looking from him to Kingsley and back. She saw the sadness on Molly's face, and the uncomfortable look the twins shared with each other.

Hestia knew that whatever they were about to say, it couldn't be good.

~~~

He wouldn't believe the words his mother had written. Refused to believe them.

Percy sat in his little kitchen the morning after the Tube attacks, the letter from his mother flat on the table before him. He had forgotten about it the night before, what with all the thoughts running through his head, and hadn't seen it until it had slid out of his bag. Now...

Taking a deep breath, Percy looked down and read it a second time:

 

_Dear Percy,_

_How are you doing? I hope you ate those mince pies I sent you last week, you know I worry about how you're eating. Make sure your pantry is well-stocked, and keep fresh foods on hand as much as you can. And don't eat out every night! Even I know how expensive London restaurants are._

_We're all doing well here. Bill's face is healing a bit, though they tell us that he'll always have deep scars. We're all going mad making wedding plans -- they've settled on 17 August, and it'll be very small, just in the back garden at the Burrow. You're invited, of course, and I do hope you'll consider coming. And right after that is your twenty-first birthday! Merlin, it seems like just yesterday you were running around with Bill and Charlie. What would you like us to get you?_

_We've seen Penelope, Percy. She told us that she's left you, and we're so sorry. She's friends with Hermione -- did you know? -- and she's joined the Order. Remus thinks she'll be an excellent asset to us, and she is such a bright girl. Are you sure there's no way you can mend things with her? I've said it a hundred times I know, but Percy, the two of you really are so well-suited._

_Remember that we all love you and miss you, and we're always thinking of you._

_Love, Mum_

Only one recurring thought was in his mind now, after the madness of the day before.

_She's joined the Order._

He never would have thought her capable of making such a leap. Penelope was a Ravenclaw and not a Gryffindor for a good reason: she lacked the gumption to plunge headfirst into things without thoroughly researching them first. The cool, calculating logic she was known for was well and good in hypothetical situations, but would never work in the real world.

Percy had let her know exactly where he stood in regards to his family's role in the Order. And now here she was, running off and joining them in whatever dangerous and foolish things they were doing, days before the Death Eaters had killed her father and countless others.

The taste of betrayal was bitter in Percy's mouth.

There would be a funeral for Andrew Clearwater, of course, once his remains were handed over to Penelope's mother and the proper arrangements were made. And Percy decided then and there that he would attend. He would find Penelope and draw her aside, and try to show her the rashness of her actions, and maybe, just maybe, he could win her back. He had to win her back before something happened to her. Now that was a plan he could see working.

He Floo'd directly to the Ministry, as he would unfortunately have to until the Tube was running again, and exchanged polite greetings with Eric Munch, the wizard who sat at the security desk. "You'll have to register your wand, Mr. Weasley," Eric said tiredly, running a hand over his scruffy face.

Percy's eyebrows drew together. "I thought only visitors were required to do so?"

Eric shrugged. "Since the attacks, the Minister isn't taking any chances."

"Very well, then." Percy stood still and allowed Eric to wave the long, thin golden rod up and down his front and back. Next, he took Percy's wand and set it down onto a brass scale. After a moment of vibrating, a small slip of parchment spit out of the bottom.

" 'Elder and dragon's heartstring, in use nine years, eleven months,' " Eric read off. "All set, Mr. Weasley. Have a nice day."

"Cheers," Percy said with a nod, and he recollected his wand and set off for the Minister's office suite.

He saw Hestia first, the moment the elevator opened onto Scrimgeour's floor. "All right, Percy?" she said with a friendly grin. She'd stuck a spare quill into her messy black hair, and in her arms she held an untidy folio of parchment sheets. "Ready for day two?"

"All right, Ms Jones," he said courteously. Then, for reasons he couldn't quite explain to himself, he even offered her a weak smile. She beamed at him and passed him on her way into the elevator.

Another bright purple interoffice memo hovered above his desk when he entered his office, and it fluttered when it noticed him. Percy rolled his eyes and snatched it out of midair to read. The memo was, unusually, from the Wizarding Health and Wellness Committee, which comprised of the board of governors who ran St. Mungo's:

_Dear Mr. Percy Weasley,_

_You are listed as the primary contact for Miss Penelope Clearwater, who was recently admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital with serious injuries sustained during the Tube bombings yesterday morning. Your presence is requested in order to decide what course is best for Miss Clearwater, as she is in no capacity for making her own decisions at this time._

_Sincerely,_

_Gertrude Spottiswoode_

_Chairwitch, Wizarding Health and Wellness Committee_

 

Percy sat down, hard, in his desk chair, the blood rushing away from his head. She had been there? She had been at a Tube station?

How could he have missed _that_?

Frantically, he paged through all of the sheets of parchment he had filled the day before with his casualty reports, looking and looking again for Penelope's name. The only Clearwater, though, was her father. She had not been on a train or a platform --

But she wasin the Order.

Percy swallowed and ran two shaking hands through his hair, leaving it standing slightly on end. Horrific images flashed in his mind: Penelope stumbling across an undetonated bomb; Penelope crushed by falling rubble. But she was invulnerable, wasn't she? Hadn't he always looked out for her? Ever since their sixth year, when the basilisk had petrified her and Percy hadn't been able to sleep or eat properly for weeks, he had protected her from harm. He had always been there for her when he was needed -- until now. He had failed her utterly.

They had gone to the bomb sites of course, the Order, to recklessly take on a job that should only have been handled by trained Ministry workers, because that was the way they saw things. They saw fit to interfere with Scrimgeour's plans to defeat Voldemort, and one day Scrimgeour would not be so forgiving towards them anymore.

And now Penelope had been hurt and was lying in hospital, incapacitated. All thanks to the Order. This was theirfault.

The purple memo crumpled in his fist.

She had brought this upon herself, joining the Order when she knew these were dangerous times for the magical community.

But he couldn't hold that against her. She was the only one he had ever broken the rules for.

How dare his parents allow her to join the Order, or let anyone else for that matter, when they knew what they were doing was wrong!

In the midst of his disjointed, dissonant thoughts, a knock came at the door and Hestia stepped in. "Sorry to bother," she began, but her words trailed off when she saw the look on Percy's face. "Dear Merlin, are you all right?"

"I --" Percy unclenched his fist and looked down at his wrinkled memo. "My former -- my girlfriend -- she's in hospital."

A flash of something crossed Hestia's face, but he missed it. "Oh Percy," she said quietly, moving forward into the office. "I'm so sorry. Is she very ill?"

"I don't know -- they were vague." Percy placed the memo on his desk. "I'm still her emergency contact. Her parents are Muggles."

"So when are you going to go to her? I know the Italian consul is supposed to be coming this afternoon, but --"

"Go to her?" Percy said, blinking.

Hestia raised her eyebrows. "What? She's in hospital. Of course you're going to at least visit -- right?"

He opened his mouth to correct that delusion, and was about to explain that of course he _wouldn't_ go see her, she was a member of the Order and he wanted nothing to do with them -- but then he remembered that Hestia had probably never heard of them, and wouldn't understand his reasons.

"I don't know if I will," he admitted.

"Oh." Hestia frowned a moment. "Well if it's work that's keeping you, I'm sure Scrimgeour would understand. He's not heartless, you know."

"Yes, but --"

"And if her parents are Muggles, as you say, they might not completely understand what's happening." She shrugged. "In my experience, Muggles are a bit afraid of magical maladies and what the term implies."

Percy pursed his lips. "That's -- true, but I --"

"But what?" she said.

_But what indeed_ , Percy thought helplessly, sinking back into his chair. Maybe... maybe Penelope wasn't responsible for her actions when she had agreed to join. Hermione Granger must have convinced her somehow, and Penelope had folded under pressure. It was a momentary lapse of judgment on her part, that was all.

He breathed a bit easier, realising that this was probably the case. "You're right," he announced, standing abruptly. "I've been selfish. I'll ask Scrimgeour for permission right away."

"Good," Hestia said. "I'll have Ackerley take over your duties for you, so don't worry about a thing while you're with your girlfriend."

Percy was already out the door before she had even finished the sentence, knocking on the doorframe into the Minister's office. Scrimgeour looked up over the tops of his spectacles and waved him in.

"What can I do for you, Weasley?" he said distractedly.

"Sir," he said, and at the last minute he recalled that Scrimgeour, unlike Hestia, would know about the Order -- "My girlfriend has been taken to St. Mungo's, and I respectfully request permission to take off work to visit her."

"Merlin's beard," Scrimgeour said, looking concerned. "It's serious?"

"She was at the Tube station with the Order of the Phoenix," Percy said. "She had an accident, I assume, and was injured."

Scrimgeour's face, at first drawn in a look of polite worry, faded and hardened into apathy at the mention of the Order. "Ah. So she's joined them, then."

"Despite my best efforts, yes," Percy admitted, embarrassed. "Nevertheless, she is hurt --"

"I'm sure they take care of their own," the Minister said. He returned to whatever he was writing and the conversation had apparently come to an end.

Percy stood before his desk, confused. "I'm her emergency contact," he said slowly. "Penelope is Muggle-born, so they need me to --"

"As I said, I'm sure the Order takes care of their own," Scrimgeour repeated, narrowing his eyes up at him. "Their members and actions are none of my business, and they should be none of yours either."

Percy swallowed, speechless.

"You were smart, Weasley," Scrimgeour went on. "When push came to shove, you stuck by your convictions and stayed with the Ministry. We alone will be successful in this war. We have the manpower, the influence, and the information that no one else has, and it will be the Ministry that stands on the side of victory in the end. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course, sir," Percy said quickly.

"Good," Scrimgeour said with a curt nod. "Now, I've got that meeting this afternoon. How is your Italian?"

"I -- I've a Florentine accent -- but I'm nearly fluent," he murmured.

"Excellent." He went on to describe what they would need to prepare for the conference with the Italians, and some automatic part of Percy's brain mentally filed all the information away. Once the Minister had done and dismissed him again, Percy went back to his office, carried by legs that seemingly moved of their own accord.

It wasn't until he was seated at his desk again that he released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. This situation was easily solved, after all. He would simply write St. Mungo's and tell them that Molly Weasley was now responsible for Penelope's welfare, and his mother would make sure she was all right.

_I'm sure the Order takes care of their own_ , he thought.

He tried to tell himself that he truly was all right with that. 


	4. A Matter of Interpretation

many thanks to **LilithBoadicea** for the beta!

**Chapter Four -- A Matter of Interpretation**

Thursday morning dawned bright and clear, with the sun perched in a cloudless blue sky, and the temperature just right for the time of year. The bakery Percy lived over had thrown open its doors, and the tantalising smell of fresh bread wafted through the air as he made his way to the local Floo station. It was, all in all, a beautiful, typical late July day.

It was also Harry Potter's seventeenth birthday.

Percy walked past a Food City mini-mart as the proprietor was setting out the day's papers, and found the blaring headline BIZARRE DEATHS IN SURREY staring back at him. He immediately stopped and bought one, and checked the article carefully, knowing Scrimgeour would want any bit of news he could get his hands on.

" _Early this morning in Little Whinging, Surrey, several people were found dead in a co-op car park. Not a single person had a mark on him, and their cause of death is still unknown..._ "

Near the end of the article, Percy read even more of note:

_"In a separate but perhaps connected event, a young boy went missing at about the same time the grisly murders took place. Harry Potter, 16, a disturbed and often violent teenager living with his aunt and uncle, vanished from his home on Privet Drive without a trace --_ "

'Disturbed and often violent'? Even the Muggle papers had gotten it right, while the _Prophet_ still insisted on giving Harry that clumsy epithet and agreeing with everything he said. Granted, the Dark Lord had indeed returned, but that did not give anyone the freedom to go about harassing professors and breaking into the Ministry and openly flaunting the rules -- not even the so-called Boy Who Lived.

To be thorough, Percy picked up the _Guardian_ , _The Times_ , and several other papers that had covered the attacks in Surrey. The man behind the counter at Food City had given him an odd look but accepted his tarnished Muggle coins, and Percy tucked the papers under his arm and took them with him to the Ministry. Fitzpatrick saw him first when he entered the Minister's office suite, and stopped where he stood.

"How much did all those papers put you back, Weasley?" he asked, sneering.

"A trifle," Percy replied coolly, realising that he might have to go without his tea and biscuits one day that week.

Fitzpatrick laughed. "No cost is too great as long as Scrimgeour throws you a bone, eh? Maybe he'll actually _acknowledge_ you today."

Percy glared at him. "The Minister doesn't --"

" _Hem, hem_." Umbridge appeared in the corridor, seemingly out of nowhere, her bulging eyes focused directly on Percy. "There isn't a problem here, is there?"

"Of course not, M-Madam Secretary," he stammered quickly. "A friendly debate, that's all."

"Nothing untoward, I assure you," Fitzpatrick added, giving her a winning smile in return.

Umbridge looked up at them a moment before nodding decidedly. "I really don't like it when people are caught doing naughty things," she said. "You're both much too old to be acting like children." She patted Fitzpatrick's arm. "If Mr Weasley starts yelling at you again, Brian, don't hesitate to tell me." Umbridge smiled sweetly up at Percy and then waddled back down the hall.

Fitzpatrick waited until she was out of earshot before turning on Percy. "When I meet those brothers of yours," he said, still grinning, "I'm going to buy them drinks." He laughed again and followed Umbridge down the corridor.

Percy slammed the newspapers on his desk once he reached his own office, lips pursed in suppressed anger. It was true that ever since Fred and George had left Hogwarts in spectacular fashion, making her look incompetent in the process, Umbridge had given Percy a difficult time. Assignments were never done to her standards the first go round, she needed tea at least twice a day and he always 'forgot' the way she took it (though it seemed that her tea preferences changed hourly), and then there were incidents like the one with Fitzpatrick. It had been worse when Drury had still been there, though. She had cried at the drop of a hat, and Umbridge would immediately turn to Percy as the cause -- never mind that Drury was seven months pregnant with her first child.

"Collated copies, Weasley, on my desk in an hour." Ackerley entered Percy's office long enough to dump a whole lot of forms into his in-tray, and left without another word.

Perhaps he would have to wait to give Scrimgeour the Muggle papers.

Later that morning, after having made Ackerley's copies, fetched tea for Umbridge (twice), looked up Wizengamot decisions for Hestia Jones, and presented his finished proposal for Dumbledore's monument to Scrimgeour, the _Daily Prophet_ finally appeared on his desk, courtesy a pretty little barn owl. Percy gave it a Knut and sent it off, before at last noticing the headlines.

**Harry Potter safe and sound!**

_Today, as everyone in the Wizarding community knows,_ _is the seventeenth birthday of Harry Potter, the Boy Who_ _Lived. As planned by Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour,_ _earlier this morning, young Harry was safely removed from_ _his childhood home in Surrey and taken to a secure location,_ _where he will remain under the watchful eyes of the Ministry..._

Percy felt a giddy smile come to his face. He'd been wrong! Of course Scrimgeour would have been able to convince Harry that it was best if he cooperated with them. He knew that things had not gone as planned last Christmas, but perseverance always paid off, and it had again this time. Percy wondered what the Order would do now, now that the only one who could defeat You Know Who was in custody of the Ministry.

He had to write Harry, he decided. He had obviously misjudged him, for Harry had come to his senses and was at last thinking rationally. What a triumph this was for the Ministry; everything was falling perfectly into place. The war would be over by New Year!

There was a staff meeting just before lunch, and Percy walked down the corridor to the conference room with a bounce in his step, confident that the meeting would be to decide what their next course of action would be, now that Harry was on their side. Curiously, no one else seemed to share his enthusiasm: Fitzpatrick's earlier victory over him had faded into bleak frustration, and Ackerley and Hestia brought cups of tea to the conference with them, which they drank down rapidly. Only Umbridge, smiling owlishly, and Scrimgeour himself seemed cool and composed.

"You are all aware what day this is," the Minister began, as Percy settled in to take the minutes.

"Bloody Potter's coming-of-age," Fitzpatrick grumbled.

"Cheers for that, Brian," Scrimgeour said, scowling. "Yes, today is young Harry Potter's seventeenth birthday, and right on schedule, he's gone conveniently missing."

Percy froze, quill balanced above his parchment. "But sir," he said, frowning in confusion, "I thought the _Daily Prophet_ said --"

"The Order has him, Weasley," the Minister said, giving him a prize-winning glare. "Our man turned up at his house in Little Whinging early this morning, and he was already gone."

"Then why does the _Prophet_ say --"

"There's something you need to learn if you're ever going to advance to a position of power in the Ministry," Scrimgeour said, addressing the staff at large. "The truth is not always pretty, and it's rarely what people want to hear." He leaned forward over the table. "Our economy is weakening because of the war, did you know that? The Galleon is losing ground to the American Token, but the British Wizarding community doesn't need to know that. What good will it do, knowing that a Galleon is now only worth 1.76 Tokens, instead of 1.93? People will only needlessly worry." Scrimgeour closed his eyes and ran a hand through his shaggy mane of hair, looking suddenly old and tired. "Nobody needs to know that Potter is missing. What they need now, with Dumbledore dead and people scared about Inferi and werewolves and who knows what else, is to know that the Ministry is in control and will protect them from You-Know-Who at all costs."

Percy, somewhat numbly, made a note on his minutes sheet: _Minister discussed withholding truths from public_.

He reread what he had written while Scrimgeour went on, discussing the press releases that would be periodically fed to the _Prophet_ , and tried to make himself agree with the Minister's stance. He couldn't. This was outright lying to the Wizarding public, pretending that everything was fine when things were in fact spiralling southwards. Critics had accused Fudge of denying the Dark Lord's return -- and Percy knew he had been right to stand behind him, for unsubstantiated proof from a fourteen-year-old boy was no proof at all -- but the Dark Lord was a real threat now, and Scrimgeour knew that. Lies in times of peace were all right, in order to keep the peace, but lies in times of war? Percy couldn't think of anything more dangerous.

"Weasley."

Percy jumped at the sound of his name, startled out of his bleak study. "Yes, Minister?" he said quickly.

"I have an extremely important question for you," Scrimgeour said gravely, gazing at Percy over the tops of his spectacles. "Most of your family is involved with the Order in some way." This caused some uncomfortable shifting and condescending sneers amongst the other members of the Ministerial staff. "Do you agree that they likely have Potter in their custody?"

Percy puffed up a bit at being singled out in such a way -- but only slightly. "My youngest brother is his best mate, and my mum has taken him under her wing," he said. "I don't doubt they have him, for what they would claim is his own safety."

Scrimgeour nodded. "So he would be at the Burrow, then?"

"No, I reckon they would take him to their headquarters," Percy blurted out, without thinking.

The other staffers eyed him with keen interest at that. "Headquarters?" Ackerley said, with mild disdain. "You mean they actually have a meeting place? Secret passwords and all that?"

"Where is this headquarters, Weasley?" Scrimgeour pressed. "If we knew where to find Potter, we would be able to focus more of our attention on hunting and catching the Azkaban escapees, and the rest of the Death Eaters."

Percy winced, knowing he wouldn't be the bearer of good news. "It's in London somewhere, in an old house that hasn't been lived in for some time," he guessed, remembering the odd hints from his mother's letters. "Even if I did know exactly where it was, the house is protected by a Fidelius Charm, and Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper. Unless he wrote down the address or made it somehow available to others, then none of us could ever find it."

Scrimgeour studied him for a moment, thoughtfully plucking at his lower lip with his thumb and index finger. "Ackerley," he said finally, "run a search of all Wizarding domiciles in the London city limits. I want addresses and the names of every family that lived in them, then I want you to cross reference those names with the ones of known Order members."

Ackerley blinked. "But sir, we don't know who is in the Order."

Scrimgeour gave him a withering look. "Who was at the Department of Mysteries fiasco last year?" he said. "Who fought against the Death Eaters last month, when Dumbledore died?"

"The Order," Ackerley murmured.

"There you are," the Minister said. "Don't forget to include Sirius Black in that search, because I don't doubt for a second that they were helping him hide after he escaped from Azkaban."

The meeting adjourned shortly after that for lunch, and Percy filed away his minutes in the proper cabinet before heading up to the Ministry cafeteria, head still reeling from Scrimgeour's revelations. Most of the tables had already been filled with Ministry employees, and a long queue came from the kitchen. Glancing around casually, hoping to spy an empty seat, Percy came across his father, eating and chatting away with a young woman with electric blue hair. Percy looked away before Arthur could catch his eye.

He met Hestia waiting behind him, and the two of them talked about what dishes the Ministry cafeteria made better than others as they continued on down the queue and went looking for a seat. They found an empty table with two chairs near one of the corners, mercifully far from Arthur and his companion. Percy found it a nice contrast -- he usually ate lunch up in his office, alone, while he worked on something for Scrimgeour.

Hestia didn't falter in her conversation as she spread her napkin in her lap and enthusiastically started in on her lunch; Percy could only smile a little at her talkativeness. "Of course I just adore Indian food," she was saying. "The other day when we had takeaway from that little place --"

"We don't usually order out like that," Percy said, managing to edge into her monologue. "Only when we have to work through lunch."

"Ah," she said, eating some of her steak and kidney pie. "We were the complete opposite in the Office of Law. We ordered Italian on Tuesdays, Japanese on Wednesdays -- I am _determined_ to buy stock in Wagamama, just for their chocolate wasabi cake alone -- Indian on Thursdays, and we'd go to O'Neill's on Fridays and get royally pissed."

Percy had to hold back his indignation, that the esteemed International Magical Office of Law would act so unprofessionally. "And what about Mondays?" he asked, pursing his lips.

She laughed. "On Mondays we exchanged Hangover Potions, as we were still recovering from the weekend."

Percy thought of what he and Penelope had done on the weekends, on the rare times when he had not been needed by the Minister, and she hadn't needed to work overtime in order to pay the bills. There was a quiet, classy little cocktail lounge near their flat in Earls Court, where they would go and order exotic drinks they'd never had before and talk in low voices about their hopes and dreams for the future. Penelope wanted a child, but just one, and not quite yet; Percy wanted to move near Hampstead Heath, to regain some of the openness he missed from his childhood in Devonshire; and they both wanted to advance in their chosen fields and live comfortably, with enough money to take care of Penelope's parents in their old age, and leave some to their child when they died.

As he thought this, with more than a little melancholy and nostalgia, Percy abruptly realised that he was staring at Hestia's chest. One of the buttons in her blue-striped blouse had come undone, and he could see the brassiere she wore underneath. Percy felt his freckled face darken with an embarrassed blush, radiating enough heat to rival the very sun. But he kept staring. Hestia's skin was pale and unmarred by freckles, and looked smooth to the touch.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, he _wanted_ to touch her.

"What about you?" Hestia gestured to him with her fork, then paused. "Well. I never thought I'd have to say this to you, of all people, but -- my face is up here."

Percy covered his eyes with one hand, moving his glasses off of his nose. He was even more embarrassed than before, now that she had caught him, and he was probably all blotchy and crimson. "Um." He forced himself to look her in the eye, never mind the tantalising glimpse of her skin. "Your shirt is undone."

"I -- what?" Hestia looked down. "Oh, bugger," she muttered, and she hastily redid the offending button. "Sorry about that. Needs to be resewn, but I couldn't be bothered the last few weeks." She looked back up at him and winked. "Never seen what's under a witch's robes, then, Percy? And here I thought you said you had a girlfriend."

"I do -- I _did_ \--" He fought to regain his cool composure, and to stop stuttering like a randy teenage boy. Because he certainly _wasn't_ randy just because he'd seen a bit of skin. Definitely not. "We broke up last week. I don't want to talk about it, and I'm sorry about -- I'm sorry." He stared down at his Ploughman's lunch as though it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Hestia chuckled. "No, it's fine. It's all right. That's what I get for wearing clothes that need mending, eh?"

Percy nodded, desperate to distract himself. "Er -- why did you leave the Office of Law?" he asked. "It sounds like you enjoyed it there."

"I wish I had," Hestia said darkly. "The only reason I managed to get as high as I did was because of my cousin, Gwenog -- right out of Hogwarts I was a reserve Chaser for the Harpies for a few years. Got dead tired with that, since the Chasers are hardly ever ill, and I really just kept the bench warm. So when I told Gwen I wanted out, she managed to pull some strings and get me the Law job, since I have N.E.W.T.s in History of Magic and Muggle Studies."

"But you were treated like just another brainless Quidditch player," he said, remembering Oliver Wood. Without Percy, Oliver would never have managed to earn enough qualifications in his seventh year.

"Exactly," Hestia said, smiling warmly at him. "So when Helen Drury's job opened up, I applied for it, and here I am."

Before Percy could ask another question, Ackerley approached their table with an amused look on his face. "Weasley, Umbridge is asking for you," he said. "Says she needs you desperately, and can't ask _anyone_ else for help."

"You've upset her," Hestia said.

"Fitzpatrick provoked me this morning," Percy said, frowning at them both, even as he stood and picked up his tray. "She happened to be there and I took the fall. And I resent the implication that Madam Umbridge would be so fickle, for she has always commended me on the excellence of my work."

Hestia shared a private smile with Ackerley, who laughed out loud. "Good luck with that, Weasley," he said. Percy rolled his eyes and stalked off, to return his tray to the kitchen and head back up to the Ministerial office suite, trying to ignore the fact that his mind kept drifting back towards Hestia's smooth, pale skin.

Umbridge's wrath was particularly prickly this time around, for Percy found himself piled up with more work than he had had in months. He was constantly running around the Ministry for the next few days, making copies and sending memos and writing proposals and reading epic Wizengamot decisions and summarising reports from the Aurors' office. Every little thing that needed to be done to help the war effort against the Dark Lord, Percy did it without complaint, even though he would stagger home at all hours of the night and collapse into bed without supper.

Still, the optimistic part of him knew that anything he did for Umbridge was a fantastic learning experience. She had been at the Ministry longer than anyone else, and her command of Ministry protocol and Wizarding Law was enviable. Anything he learned at her apron strings, as it were, would be well worth the extra elbow grease he put into his work.

He toiled away happily until the Monday following Harry's birthday, finishing with satisfaction his summary of the latest reports from the squad investigating the Tube explosions. Umbridge came to him not a half-hour after his arrival, smiling in a distinctly toady way.

"Mr Weasley," she said sweetly, "might I trouble you for a moment or two?"

He stood immediately, years of good manners bred into him since childhood. "Of course, Madam Secretary," he said genially, gesturing to the other chair in his small office.

"No no, this will only be a moment -- not _even_ , I'm sure," she went on, smiling. "I was wondering if you've had the opportunity to look over the recent amendments made to our citizenship laws?"

"I have," Percy said, straightening proudly. "I made sure to read them as soon as they were passed."

"Oh wonderful, just wonderful," she said, a strangely manic gleam in her eye. "As it happens, I've just received a memo from the Records Department. The clerk on duty is having trouble with a couple applying for a marriage license. I was on my way down to handle the situation. I'm sure you'd like to accompany me?"

"Of course, Madam Secretary," Percy said, eager to see the law in action. He grabbed his favourite quill and a short scroll to take notes, and followed her out of the office and into the lift.

Umbridge was her usual giddy self as they waited for the lift to reach the proper floor. "Such enthusiasm in a young wizard is so encouraging to see," she said, rubbing her pudgy hands together. "We need more employees like you in the Ministry, Mr Weasley. Many, many more."

Percy was swelling with pride by the time they reached the Hall of Records, and walked along the wood-paneled corridor that took them to the front desk. A door ahead of them opened and a young, pimply-faced clerk poked his head out into the hallway. "Thank Merlin," he said, upon seeing Umbridge. "They're getting fidgety out here."

"Everything is under control now," Umbridge said, and Percy followed her through the door and out to the front desk, where applicants waited to obtain marriage licenses.

Percy's mouth went dry when he saw the couple on the other side of the desk. He stopped dead in his tracks.

It was Bill and Fleur.

Percy hadn't seen Bill in almost two years -- not since the Triwizard Tournament, when he had been a judge and Bill had come with their parents to see Harry before the third task. He couldn't believe that this man before him, with his face permanently marred by still-healing scars, was the same older brother he had hero-worshipped for more than half his life. The moment Percy stopped, Bill's eyes swung towards him. Neither of them could look away.

"Well," Umbridge was saying, "what seems to be the problem here?"

"William Arthur Weasley and Fleur Delacour," the clerk said, presenting their identification. "They're planning a wedding ceremony for later in the month, but there's something wrong with Mr Weasley's ID. The scales blink at me when I insert his papers."

"I see," Umbridge said, shooting a conspicuous look at Percy. He looked back helplessly. "Why do you think that would happen, Mr Weasley?"

Percy swallowed. "The applicant is no longer considered a full Wizarding citizen," he said hollowly.

"Ah." She turned to Bill. "And where did you get such nasty scars?"

Bill clenched his jaw as he turned to her. "I was attacked by Fenrir Greyback," he said coldly.

The clerk visibly retreated from him, pale with fright. "Exactly," Umbridge said, smiling even more broadly. When she spoke next, her voice was slower and louder, as though she were speaking to someone hard of hearing. "Because of your injuries, you are now classified as a half-breed, Mr Weasley. You cannot hold property or enter into contracts with wizards -- which includes marriage licenses."

"It was not ze full moon," Fleur burst out, clinging to Bill's arm. "He is no werewolf, any more zan you!"

Umbridge gave her a patronising smile. "If I were you," she said, "I would distance myself from Mr Weasley as soon as possible. A pretty witch like you should have no trouble finding someone else."

"I don't transform," Bill insisted. "You can ask my parents, they were with me during the last full moon, as was Madam Pomfrey from --"

"My hands are tied," Umbridge said, sounding not so much regretful as triumphant. She turned to Percy. "I'm sure you can explain the laws, Mr Weasley," she said. "I have other matters I must attend to." She took the pimply clerk with her, and Percy found himself alone, standing on the other side of the records desk from his oldest brother and future sister-in-law.

They stood facing each other for what seemed hours, before Fleur spoke. "Percy," she begged. "He is your bruzzer. Please do not do zees."

Percy looked away, at his scroll and quill. "The law says --" He cleared his throat uncomfortably, wishing he were back in his office. "The law is clear --"

"I'm not a werewolf, Perce," Bill said evenly. "I've had several long conversations with Remus Lupin, who _is_ one, and he says that I don't have enough of the characteristics."

Percy seized on that. "Obviously you do, if there was a problem with your identification," he said, voice growing stronger. "A new law was passed last month, which greatly restricts the rights of half-breeds --"

"Don't you _dare_ call them that," Bill cried, eyes flashing in anger. Percy stepped back, startled. "Mum and Dad raised you better than that."

"He does not change," Fleur said, threading her fingers through Bill's. "I swear zees to you. He is no werewolf."

Percy looked between the two of them, his heart pounding somewhere near his throat. His breath came in short gasps, as his brain frantically scrambled for a solution. The laws had been passed primarily to protect full humans; otherwise, people would be infected left and right by werewolves left to wander freely. If Bill really didn't change...

"What happens?" he said.

Bill relaxed, but only a little. "I eat my steaks rare now," he said. "And on the full moon, my sense of smell is slightly better. That's all."

Percy bit his lip, until he tasted blood. "Swear to me that that's all," he said. "If I learn that there's more --"

"That's all, Perce," Bill said softly, leaning on one hand on the desk. His blue eyes were bright and earnest. "I swear."

A minor change in diet? Increased olfactory abilities on one night in thirty? That was a long way off from turning into a savage beast with a hunger for human flesh. The laws had been created for the dangerous ones, the ones who really changed and put the people around them in harm's way. Percy turned to Fleur. "Do you feel unsafe or uncomfortable on the full moon? Has anything ever happened to make you feel that your life was in danger?"

Fleur shook her head. "Nevair," she declared throatily. "Not once. Bill would nevair 'urt me."

Before he could think about it too closely and change his mind, Percy reached into the desk before him and dug out a marriage license. "I'll have to make sure it gets filed by the end of the day," he said, half to himself, as he began filling it in. "I'll do it myself. No one looks up records anymore, unless they're doing genealogy, so it might be years before anyone catches it."

"Thank you, Percy!" Fleur cried, seizing him by the ears and kissing his head. "Oh, thank you!"

He blushed, but slid the completed license towards them, and witnessed them signing their names. "You can't publish the banns in the _Prophet_ ," Percy said seriously, initialing the license and giving it the proper stamps of authenticity, "and you can't make the ceremony public."

"If that's what we need to do, we'll do it," Bill said.

Percy took the form and with one quick spell duplicated it. "Hide this," he said, shoving a copy towards Bill; Bill tucked it into the front of his dragon-skin jacket. "Tell no one aside from family and close friends," he added anxiously. "If word reaches the right ears, it's my job. Now go, I have to --"

Bill reached out and grabbed Percy's shoulder before he could turn away. "We sent you a wedding invitation," he said. "I want you to come, Perce."

Percy laughed a little and shook his head. "No, I really shouldn't."

"Bollocks to what everyone else will think," Bill persisted. "It's my wedding and you're my brother."

"It is only right, for what you have done for us," Fleur agreed.

"I have to go. I'm sorry." Percy shook off Bill's hand, and without another word he left the records desk, closing the door behind him. 


End file.
